Savin' Me
by AnRevival
Summary: John finds out some disturbing information about his best friend that makes him rethink who he should be rooting for. Set during CM Punk's feud with Randy Orton. Eventual John Cena/CM Punk slash.
1. Prologue

This is slash, set during CM Punk's Nexus days

I don't own anything

Prologue

Blood. There was blood on his hands. It stained his wrist tape. It was smeared on his chest. Punk stared at his hands. They were shaking and he couldn't make them stop. Shaking with rage, with the memory the bright red stains provoked in him. Just like that night, like the last time Randy Orton had left him bloody.

Punk's heartbeat rang in his ears; He couldn't take his eyes off the blood, couldn't get his mind of what had happened. The urge to get up and scrub his hands until they were raw was strong but he couldn't move. Being close to Randy always left him a bit of a mess. The really fucked up part about it was that he'd started it, he'd gone after Randy, and made it his mission to destroy the man but it wasn't helping like he thought it would. He just sat there, frozen in time; it was like the world had stopped and he couldn't make it start moving again. He was stuck there, with the blood on his hands and chest.

"You know, I'd say you deserve more than what you got today."

Punk had been so lost in thought that he didn't notice anyone open the door and he jumped at the voice, jerked his head up to stare at John Cena.

"What the hell do you want, Cena?" He snapped. He felt rage start to burn in his veins. Of course, Cena was talking about the broken nose. For a split second, however, the thought that Cena knew and that was what he'd been talking about...

"Actually, I was wondering if there was any way you could be more of an asshole and then I watched what you did to Randy out there..."

"Get the hell out, Cena."

He rolled his eyes. "Actually, I'm supposed to deliver a message to get your ass to the trainer's room." He paused. "Don't look at me like that. They passed it off to me and everyone else was too scared to come in here."

"And who sent you that message, Cena?" He asked with anger. "I'm fine."

"Whatever. You were bleeding pretty badly out there but it's your face, man. I probably shouldn't have even come in here. God knows you deserve to suffer a little bit."

"Tell them I'm fine."

"Really not a messenger boy, Punk, despite what some people might think. You tell 'em your fine."

"If I do that, will everyone leave me alone?" He just wanted to be left alone, to get away from Orton and the rest of the superstars as soon as possible.

"I think you'll get your wish. Not sure there's many people around here that want to be around you anyway." Cena's words were casual.

"Fine." He said with a sigh, and got up.

He shoved past Cena on his way out. The hostility was back. He'd never liked Cena to begin with but the casual blows Cena had just dealt him upped his anger even further. His emotions were out of whack anyway. They always were after being near Randy.

Instead of going to the trainer's, Punk walked out and to his car. He wanted to get away from everyone. He knew the drill anyway. It wasn't the first time he'd busted his nose and he didn't want to have to deal with anyone at that moment.

He drove back to the hotel in silence, as the tears threatened to fall from his eyes. The memories wanted to invade his mind, and he hoped desperately that he could have one night without them.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white and he couldn't escape the thought that he'd done this to himself. He'd chosen to go after Orton, chosen to follow after revenge that would keep him close to Orton every week.

For the first time, he was regretting going after him, regretting to keep the rage he had for the man in his system. It was the rage that made him want to do this, the fact that Orton made him develop that rage.

He shook his head, trying desperately to shake the thoughts out of his head. He didn't care if people thought he was an asshole, didn't care if he was hated for going after Orton. None of that mattered. No one would know the real reason he'd gone after Orton. No one would ever know.

Xxxxxxx

"Okay, what the hell is your problem?" John simply could no longer contain himself. He'd been sitting in the locker room with Randy for fifteen minutes, waiting for the dark match main event he was scheduled in. Randy had been brooding and snapping at everyone since John had come in.

"Nothing." Randy's tone was clipped, angry.

"Nothing?" John asked, "You've been snapping at everyone ever since I've came in here. I know Punk is an asshole, but still. You got the upper hand, you broke his nose."

"I broke his nose," Randy repeated flatly, his eyes dark. He didn't sound happy about it. In fact, John hadn't seen Randy the least bit happy since Punk had first started the little revenge kick he had against Randy.

"Yeah, and you don't sound happy about that because?"

"You don't know anything." Randy's voice had gotten low, simmering with pent up rage and something else John couldn't quite decipher.

"Talk to me, man."

"You don't get it," Randy said with a shake of his head. He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'm not the good guy in this situation." He walked out then, leaving John sitting alone with a confused frown on his face.


	2. I'm Fallin'

Punk had never been so relieved to be home, to be away from the other members of the roster, to be away from the ring, to be away from Orton. He wasn't too terribly surprised to find, when he made it inside his house, Colt sitting on his couch.

"You been waiting for me? Or just taking over my house?" He asked, keeping his voice light but he was pretty sure of why Colt was there. He and Punk's sisters were still reluctant to leave him alone any length of time.

"I'm bored," Colt replied with a smile. "How's your nose?"

"Its fine," Punk answered, dropping down beside Colt. "Not like it hasn't happened before."

Colt turned Punk's face towards him and tilted his head, "Let me see,"

"Its fine," Punk repeated, pulling his head from Colt's grip.

"It looks broken."

"And all they'd tell me to do would be put ice on it," Punk pointed out. "It stopped bleeding while I was still at the arena and I'll put some ice on it now." He got up, headed to his kitchen.

"That's good..."

Punk eyed his best friend a moment. He knew that his face had to look swollen but he was also pretty sure that wasn't the only reason for the concern in Colt's eyes. "You shouldn't worry so much. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Colt asked. "You can tell me if something's bothering you. You know that right?"

Punk barely held back a scoff. He'd heard that line dozens of times from Colt and his sisters. He still remembered how freaked out his sisters had gotten when he'd stopped shaving and really gone off the deep end. He'd pulled himself back from that-barely. "I know," he said instead but that was all he said.

"I won't tell anyone, not even your sisters-

"Nothing's wrong, okay?"

Colt sighed and stared down at the counter a moment. "Two years, man. Whatever happened to you…I haven't seen you happy in two years. I don't want to push you about this but I know something bad happened and I just…" He trailed off as he finally met Punk's gaze again.

"Nothing happened." Punk's voice was firm with a slight hint of irritation. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and walked out of the room, not giving Colt enough time to formulate a reply. He followed after him, and sat back down on the couch.

Punk however, did not sit down. "I'm going to shower," he said. Colt only nodded in reply and Punk knew he wouldn't be pushing him anymore that night.

Xxxxxxxx

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a very long time. Colt laid his head back against Punk's couch, unmoving for the moment. He was frustrated and worried and had been for what felt like too long. Ever since his best friend started growing his hair long and claiming to be the "straight edge savior", he began to worry that maybe something happened to his best friend to make him go down the road of insanity

Something had driven him over the edge. At first, Colt had thought it was the mess with Jeff Hardy because he knew that Punk and Hardy hated each other but he'd realized, after Hardy had left the company, that there was something else, something worse going on. Because Punk hadn't gotten better, he'd gotten worse.

He became angrier, more closed off. Before, he and colt would tell each other everything, but now Colt couldn't get anything out of him. The slide he'd taken after Jeff Hardy's departure had actually scared him a little bit. He'd seen Punk get lost in that sort of attitude before, when he'd been in the Indies but that was the worst. Punk had completely cut himself off from everyone and it was only after Gallows and Serena had been fired that he'd started to come back to himself a little bit.

But, it wasn't the same positive man he once knew, this one seemed scared, frightened of something. Whenever Colt would come behind him, Punk would jump like someone was about to hurt him. And oh so angry. Granted, Punk had never been the most positive guy in the world, never been the nicest but his temper had gotten even worse. Every little thing set him into a throwing rage, with glass or anything Punk could get his hands on hitting the wall.

He'd tried to find out what had happened and he knew Punk's sisters had as well but nothing had come of it. Whatever had happened, Punk wasn't talking. And that sent chills down Colt's spine, the fact that something that bad had happened to his best friend. Something bad enough that he wasn't talking about because it had to be something very bad. After all, Colt knew about Punk's less than stellar childhood, he knew about everything Punk had done or gone through since he'd been an adult. But this, Punk wasn't talking about, and whenever Colt tried to talk to him, it ended in Punk getting angry with him.

For the first time since he'd met Punk, he had no idea what to do to help his friend.

Xxxxxx

Punk could barely keep his focus on his matches at the house shows that week. One of the consequences of kick starting a feud with Orton was that he was scheduled in tag matches or one on one matches with Orton during nearly every single house show.

He hated it, hated the fact that during a match, Orton could touch him, could put his hands on him. Every time he did that, Punk wanted to throw up, to run away. But he couldn't run, not now, and not that night. He also still felt the burning need to hurt Orton, to cause him pain. He desperately wanted to achieve that goal, to make Orton pay. He needed it.

For all the pain Orton had caused him, Punk felt he deserved the same. Punk broke from his thoughts when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cena making his way over. Mason, who'd been standing a few feet away, took a couple steps closer when he spotted Cena approaching. The match was supposed to start soon. Punk had only been waiting for his music to queue up. But now he threw a look at Mason to make sure the man didn't do anything before they were called to ringside. Cena and Orton had been scheduled as tag team partners for the night against Punk and Mason.

"Your nose any better?" Cena asked, when he stopped a few feet from Punk.

"Its fine," Punk said, rolling his eyes in irritation.

"I was just trying to be nice, but whatever."

"Yeah, I know it's like a compulsion for you." Punk's tone had turned a bit mocking.

"Whatever, man."

Punk opened his mouth to retort to that but a new voice interrupted and he stiffened immediately at the sound of it.

"John? Everything alright here?"

"Yeah, Punk's just being an asshole."

Punk's fists clenched at that and he glared at Orton as he walked over to stand beside John. Punk noted that Orton was watching Mason warily, that his gaze had slid right past Punk like he wasn't there and his rage spiked up yet another notch.

"You alright?" Mason asked.

But Punk hardly heard him and didn't respond. He was too angry, standing too close to Randy Orton. When Mason's hand landed on his shoulder, he almost jumped and he turned his glare on the big man.

"Don't do that," he ordered harshly. Mason blinked, surprised at his hostility but removed his hand.

"Sorry."

"Just...come on," Punk said angrily, pulling Mason with him when, thankfully, his music finally started up.

He made his way out to the ring, trying to act like nothing was wrong, but he could tell it wasn't working. He knelt in the corner with Mason looming to his right, his gaze focused on the ramp, waiting. He didn't stand again until both Cena and Orton were out at ringside and it took an unbelievable amount of effort to clear his head and focus on the match.

Mason was a big guy but he wasn't especially fast. He'd never moved past the basic power moves in terms of his ability in the ring so it wasn't so much of a surprise when Orton got the upper hand and Punk reluctantly took the tag when Mason called for it. He stood in his corner for a moment, bouncing from one foot to the other and did what he always did when he had to face Orton, what he had to do. He pushed everything else aside in favor of the rage that he felt for the man, in favor of that need to hurt Orton. They traded blows at first, and then locked up but it wasn't until Orton had backed him into the corner that it changed for him.

"Punk." Orton's voice was low, demanding and when Punk looked up into those gray eyes, and he saw actual regret in them...that was when he really snapped. His vision narrowed. Rage burned so bright and hot in his veins that he felt like he was burning from the inside out.

Without even realizing what he was doing, he raised his knee and landed a vicious low blow that had Orton crying out and dropping to the floor. Completely unaware of his surroundings or of the referee calling for the disqualification, Punk was on top of Orton, landing closed fist punches, one after another until Orton was bleeding just like he had been Monday. He kept going until someone pulled him off Orton and he fought against the hold and it wasn't until he landed a wild elbow and heard Mason give a cry that he even realized who it was that had pulled him off. He stumbled away from Mason and stared wildly around the ring. Cena and Mason were both staring at him with wide, shocked eyes and Orton had yet to move.

Breathing hard, he backed up when Mason tried to approach him. "Fuck. Off." He growled the words and then he was out of the ring, stalking back towards the locker room.

Xxxxxxx

"What the hell just happened out there?" John asked Randy as soon as they made it to the trainer's room.

Randy was holding a towel against his split lip while the trainer cleaned the cut on his eyebrow. "I fucked up."

"Care to explain?" John asked, crossing his arms.

"No," Randy answered shortly, dropping the towel and accepting the ice pack the trainer offered.

"Why?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Randy said, eyes flashing briefly. "You need to leave it alone."

"It does when it involves a match that I'm a part of."

"Then next time, I'll make sure you're not a part of it." Randy stood from the table. He was walking a little gingerly, still hurting from the low blow.

"I'll just ask Punk," John suggested.

"You do that." Randy looked completely unconcerned. "But trust me; he's not going to tell you anything."

"And why is that?"

Randy only shook his head. "Why do you even care? You hate Punk, I know you do."

"I don't hate him," John automatically protested. Truthfully, there were very few people that he'd ever truly hated in his life. Actually, Randy had been, at one point, one of those few people that he had ever hated.

"Well, he hates you," Randy pointed out.

"You know what? Just forget it. Don't ask to team with me if you're not going to fill me in."

"I can't..." Randy paused, sighed again. "You hated me at one point. I don't want that to happen again."

"Why would I hate you?" He asked, "Does this have to do with you costing him his first title shot back in 2008?"

Randy grimaced. "No, this is something worse...and you would hate me. You're too good a person not to, as weird as that might sound. Just...let this go, John. Please." Randy walked past John then, leaving the room.

John just shook his head in confusion and ran a hand through his short hair in frustration. He had no idea what was going on, no idea what Randy could have done that would be worse than what John already knew about. Worse than kicking John's father in the head? Worse than knocking out Triple H's wife in front of the man?


	3. On the Ledge

_He hurt all over. Sitting on the floor of the locker room, his long hair tangled and falling over his face, he couldn't move. At least, not for the first few minutes after he was left alone. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. It hurt too much. The only thing he could do was cry. But, he refused to cry, refused to let the tears fall. He couldn't stop it, though. He closed his eyes and could only see..._

_"No." He shook his head fiercely, trying to banish the images from his mind and that was about the time that he shifted on the floor and pain, sharp and hot shot up his spine. He couldn't escape the origin of it, of that pain and before he could even try and stop it, he leaned to the side and heaved, bringing up everything he'd eaten earlier in the day. _

_His skin crawled and his stomach continued to rebel until he was only dry heaving. He knew he had to get up at some point, but he couldn't bring himself to move. But...he needed a shower. That need was growing to an almost unbearable level. He was barely aware of it when he began to scratch at his skin. He could still feel it, still feel _him_ inside._

_Forcing himself up, he managed to get into a sitting posision. He forced himself into the shower...and stayed in until the extra hot water and all the scrubbing turned his skin an angry red._

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Punk woke with a start, jerking upright, eyes wide. He sat for a moment, nearly hyperventilating before bringing his hands up to his face. Forcing himself to calm down, he tried to get the images out of his head. This was why he hated to sleep when he did manage it. _He_ was always there waiting. Punk could still feel those hands on his skin. Scrambling out of bed, he only paused to grab his bag before he made his way into the bathroom. Shutting and locking the door, he quickly turned on the hot shower, and stepped inside. He needed to get the feeling of _him_ off.

Placing his hands against the tile, he let the near scalding water run down his back. Eyes closed, he made an effort to clear his head of the images from his nightmare that really wasn't just a nightmare. He stayed in the shower for longer than usual, until his skin was bright red. He had scrubbed all of him off, and still, he didn't feel clean. He wondered if he'd always feel unclean, dirty. When he got out, he stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes.

"Two years. It's been two years." But it didn't matter. He could still feel it. Could still see it. It was going to fuck with him all day. It always did when he had the nightmares. Like reliving it again. Usually, he could focus, he could manage while he was working but after a nightmare, it was always worse.

He knew that he had to get it together, to put it behind him for now. He had a job to do, he had to work. But there was the fact that work included continuing the feud with Orton that he had started. It was a good thing; he supposed that everyone viewed him as one of the biggest assholes in the company. It really did help keep people away, especially on the bad days. And today was going to be a bad day; he knew it even before he stepped out of the bathroom.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Walking into the Nexus locker room, John spotted Punk on his back, with his eyes closed, IPod resting on his chest. He'd come to ask Punk what was going on, why he beat the shit out of Randy at the house show earlier in the week. The whole mess with Punk and Randy was beginning to weird him out. Randy had been acting strange and what had happened at the house show...

He walked over to where Punk was laying, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The reaction he got was more than surprising. Punk jerked awake, his eyes snapping open immediately. He knocked John's hand away from him, bolting upright and breathing like he'd just run a mile.

"You okay?" John asked.

He held up his hands as Punk stared at him with a slightly wild look in his eyes. "Cena...?" John's frown deepened when he saw that Punk was shaking. He paused, ran a hand over his mouth. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask what was up with you and Randy."

"We hate each other. End of story," Punk replied, sitting up and setting his IPod aside. "Yes. It's all about the title. I hold grudges, remember?" He stood then, although he did keep his distance from John. John couldn't help but to think he was lying. The way Randy had been acting...

"Not according to Randy," John said, "He said it's something worse then what he did back in 2008."

"According to Randy?" Punk's expression turned mocking. "And Orton is a viable source."

"He says you're the good guy in this situation."

"I've never been the good guy, Cena," Punk commented idly.

"What did he do to you?" John asked, looking Punk in the eyes.

"What do you care?" Punk asked with a hint of frustration. "You don't like me. I know you don't. Why do you care what Orton might have done a couple of years ago?"

"Because Randy's my friend, and I'm worried about him."

John saw something close to rage flash in Punk's eyes. "That's...sweet. Get the fuck out of my locker room."

"Fine. But, I did want to let you know...whatever's going on with you two, I do have his back."

"Fuck you, Cena." He was practically shaking again and the words came out through clenched teeth. John just waved at him.

"Have a nice day, Punk."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

John was smiling when he came backstage after his match. He'd had a fairly good night. He'd won his match and he was headed into his WWE title match with Miz with a good feeling. Heading towards his locker room, he paused when he passed what had looked like a deserted hallway and heard a voice.

"_I'm fine. I've told you before, I'm okay_."

He looked down the hall to see Punk on the phone. "Cassie, I'm fine, No, nothing happened to me, so please stop. I'm okay." He had his back turned in the direction of John and John frowned moving so that he was pressed against the wall, so that if Punk turned he wouldn't see him.

There was a pause and John heard him sigh. "I never sleep. That isn't so unusual...Yeah, yeah. I get it but...You can't hold that shit against me forever. So, I went off the deep end a little bit. This place can drive you crazy...And Orton? He deserves it."

John left the hallway quietly, making sure that Punk didn't see him. He shook his head as he ran over what he had heard. It was true that Punk had a screwed up sense of what people deserved. His reasoning for going after John had been a little screwed up, after all. When he got into the locker room, he sat down and pulled his bag over.

"Hey, man."

"Hey," John said with a forced smile when Kofi stopped in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Kofi asked when he spotted the frown on John's face.

"Nothing."

"Come on, man. We're friends, right?" Kofi pressed him.

"It's this thing with Punk and Orton"

"Punk," Kofi repeated, and John saw him stiffen a little bit at the name.

"Yeah, and Randy's acting weird, like he's guilty of something. He mentioned that this had nothing to do with the title, and that he did something worse to Punk besides punt him in the head."

"Yeah...Look, I don't know what to tell you. I'm not friends with Orton and I haven't been friends with Punk in a couple of years."

"But you were friends, and Randy did say it happened around a few years ago."

"You want me to guess at something that might have happened between Orton and Punk a couple of years ago?" He paused a moment but his expression had changed and John got the feeling that he was holding something back.

"You do know something."

Kofi hesitated a moment before he sighed and sat down in front of John, leaning forward. "I don't know anything about Orton but Punk….We were friends. Good friends, actually but something changed. It was a little while before he went after Jeff Hardy, actually."

"What's that?" John pressed him and Kofi hesitated yet again.

"I don't know if I should be telling you this."

"I'm worried. Randy and I are friends, Kofi, and he's been acting off since this thing with Punk started."

"But you don't even know if this has anything to do with Orton," Kofi protested with a frown.

"And if it does? Please…just tell me."

"Alright," Kofi relented reluctantly. "Two years ago, we were friends but he changed. I don't know what happened, he'd never tell me but…I found him once, coming out of the locker room. Looked like he'd taken a beating and he was…shaky. Wouldn't let me get close to him. For a couple of weeks after that, it was the same. He wouldn't talk to anyone, seemed to be afraid of everything. Then he got angry."

"Angry?"

Kofi nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure you watched what he did to Jeff Hardy, right? I thought about it a lot back then, when we were friends. Whatever happened that night I found him in the locker room…He wasn't the same."

"You think someone did something to him?"

"Whatever it was, it was bad," Kofi confirmed. "He was a completely different person afterward. You saw it, how he went off the deep end. Everyone did. How obsessed he got when he formed the Straight Edge Society. I tried talking to him...a lot back then. But..."

"He wouldn't talk to you?"

"He wouldn't talk to anyone. He blew everyone off. I even heard him blowing his sisters off on more than one occasion. Look, John…he wasn't a bad guy before that. Something happened to turn him into one." Kofi stood up and walked passed john. "I hope you figure out what's going on with Randy, or even Punk."

John watched him leave before he rested his elbows on his knees and sighed. He still had no idea what was going on but that conversation had been a little bit enlightening. He had no idea what to think of what Kofi just told him. He'd started down this road because of Randy but this was starting to sound more and more like Randy had done something really bad. He'd thought he'd already seen Randy's worst side. But what if he hadn't?


	4. Figuring it Out

_How easy it was to turn a crowd...Punk stood beside the announcers table, watching Jeff Hardy writhe on the floor. The satisfaction that welled up in at the sight caused a humorless smirk to appear on his face. He could hear the jeers from the crowd, but he didn't have any regret. He felt proud of what he just did, felt the rush of adrenalin through his body_

_He didn't give a damn what the audience thought of it. He'd been getting crap since he'd cashed in his contract on Jeff, not just from Jeff and his friends either. Cashing it in the way he had had been a last second decision born out of frustration over an encounter with Randy Orton. His stomach rolled even thinking of that name and the rage that had built up in him and caused him to attack Jeff in the first place began to build back up again. _

_Without thinking about it, he picked Jeff up again, leaning the other man against one knee and repeatedly drove his elbow into Jeff's neck. He threw Jeff back to the floor a few seconds later, bringing his hands up to pull at his hair. The rage was building every second he was out there, looking at Hardy._

_He took a few steps away and had to force himself to walk away from ringside. He needed to get out, get away from the ring, from Hardy, from the arena. He walked back to his locker room, ignoring anyone who dared to try and speak to him. He needed to leave._

xxxxxxxxx

Punk sat backstage in the locker room, arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His gaze was trained on monitor and he ignored the other superstars speaking around him. Mason and Otunga sat on either side of him, McGillicutty and Harris sat behind and he was confident that no one would approach him with all four of them flanking him. He needed it. The last couple of days had been bad. He hadn't slept much and the sleep he did get was punctuated with nightmares that rivaled the ones he'd had just after. Cena's questions coupled with the feud with Orton was getting to him.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep it together in front of them. All of that shit was coming back on him in a bad way over the last couple of weeks, worse than before. And the last thing he wanted was to go back to that dark place again. He had just managed to pull himself out of it.

But he was so tired, among other things and, not for the first time, he wondered why he'd even signed the contract with WWE. All it had brought him was misery. The WWE brass didn't believe in he had what it took, had never believed it since he'd joined the company in 2005. He couldn't help but to think that if he'd stayed in the indies, stayed in Ring of Honor, none of this would have happened.

He'd been happy there. He hadn't been happy in WWE in years. He closed his eyes in favor of remembering those memories, when he was truly happy. Before Randy, before the WWE. When he could talk to his sisters without one of them asking if he was okay. He'd been thinking about it a lot lately.

His contract was nearly up, and he seriously was thinking of not re-signing. He still had until July to think about it but he couldn't really see anything changing between now and then.

Xxxxxxxxxx

John found Randy two hours after RAW ended in a run down, crappy little bar. Randy was already slumped over the table he'd picked, a beer in front of him.

"Hey, man."

Randy looked up at him, his eyes glazed and when he spoke, his words were slurred. "Love my wife, Johnny."

John frowned at the greeting. "I know you do."

"I did something bad..." Randy trailed off as John sat down in front of him.

"What did you do?" Again, John was interested, though. Randy had done a lot of bad things in front of the camera and behind it but he'd admitted to all of it.

"You don't know." Randy teetered on his stool, staring at John.

"Apparently, I don't." Apparently, he didn't know everything.

"You can't." Randy's voice sounded firm but a second later he leaned forward on the table. "Done lotsa bad things. You saw."

"So, why are you going on about it?" There was a hint of worry in John's voice, and he was worried but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He wanted to know what was going on with Randy.

"I cheated. I'mma cheater," Randy declared suddenly, loudly.

"A cheater?" John repeated, his frown deepening. He'd seen Randy cheat countless times during matches. After he'd formed Legacy, and even before that. But he knew, even before Randy spoke again, that wasn't what Randy was talking about.

"No, no!" Randy said, even louder then he lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning even closer to John. "I'mma cheater on Sam."

"What?" John asked, only a hint of surprise in his voice. He hadn't been friends with Randy during that time of his life but he had known about the drugs, about the destructive behavior.

"I cheated on Sam," Randy repeated. "With..with..." He trailed off a moment. "M'bad."

"With who?" John pressed him. "And why are you telling me this?" He wondered briefly if Sam knew about it but if Randy was drinking himself stupid over it and it was still bothering him, he doubted she did. Which, okay, cheating was bad but Sam had forgiven Randy for a lot, some of which John thought was even worse.

"Not like this," Randy argued. He picked up the shot the waitress had brought to him but John grabbed his wrist, kept him from downing it.

"Dude, you need to stop. You're wasted."

"Not enough," Randy mumbled, prying John's fingers from his wrist. "Was on drugs and did bad things. Worst was with Punk."

"Punk?"

"Was so obsessed, John. He was there and pretty and I was obsessed and-I was crazy...had a lot of obsessions back then."

"You mean...you slept with CM Punk?" And that was something he should have expected. All this seemed to be going straight back to Punk, every time. Still, he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but to be surprised. All this was because Punk and Randy slept with each other two years ago?

It didn't add up to him. Not completely. Not Punk's reactions towards Randy lately, not with Randy's insistence that he'd done something horrible to Punk two years ago. Maybe he'd promised Punk something that he wouldn't give?

That, however, didn't make much sense either. John had never liked Punk, never been friends with the guy but he did know lots of people, both male and female, backstage who had approached Punk on more than one occasion. The general consensus when it came to Punk was that he may be an asshole but he didn't do one night stands. John had a hard time believing that he would sleep with a married man too.

"Worse than that. I...he..." But Randy couldn't seem to get the words out and he slumped forward, his forehead hitting the table. "Don't feel so good."

"Yeah, I see that." John dropped the subject then and frowned in sympathy. He really needed to get Randy back to the hotel to sleep this off. He went around the table and helped Randy to his feet, slinging the man's arm over his shoulder and walked him out of the bar.

Xxxxxxx

John went to find Punk as soon as he got to the arena. He'd stayed with Randy until the man had passed out and John was more worried than ever. John had known all about those years. Knew about Randy's suspensions and how he'd almost killed himself and almost ruined his marriage. What John didn't get was why Randy was getting wasted over it now. He was still trying to work out the reasoning behind that.

He walked to the Nexus lock room, and without knocking, opened the door. He found Punk sitting against the wall, with his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them.

"I guess no one knocks anymore, do they?"

"Would you have answered?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. He was mildly surprised when Punk's lips twitched in an almost smile.

"Probably not." He sighed but didn't bother getting up. "What do you want now?"

John only hesitated a second but he needed to know. Randy was a wreck. "So, you aren't going after Orton just because of the title."

Punk rolled his eyes. "This again? Why can't you mind your own business, Cena? Why do you have to keep sticking your nose in mine?"

"Because this involves my best friend."

"And your best friend asked you to get in his business?" Punk asked, standing finally.

"I'm worried about him." John didn't want Randy going back to the guy he'd been two years ago. Besides Randy didn't just have himself to worry about. He had a wife and a kid.

"I don't care." Punk crossed his arms, irritation in his tone.

"He told me about what happened between you two."

Punk's eyes grew wide. "W-what?" he stuttered, in shock. "What did he say?"

"He told me that you and he had a one night stand. You know, for someone who claimed not to have one night stands, you sure went against that one."

Punk opened his mouth, the shock on his face only growing. "That's what he told you?"

"Yeah, he did. So, I'm guessing you didn't want it to be just a one night stand?" It was the only thing John could think of. The only reason he could think of that Punk would still be holding a grudge.

"You think it's about me wanting him?" His expression twisted in disgust.

"Well, what else could it be?"

"I've never wanted him," Punk stated, still seemingly stuck on John's assumption.

"Then why did you sleep with him?"

"I didn't!" He blurted out then froze, paled. When he spoke again, his voice came out as barely a whisper. "Get out."

"Wait-

"GET OUT!" His fists clenched at his sides. There was rage in his eyes. "Get out now before I fucking throw you out!"

"Alright." John held up his hands and turned to step out of the room. He was barely out when Punk slammed the door in his face. John leaned against the wall a moment, the frown still on his face.

Why would Randy say he slept with Punk, when Punk just said they didn't? He ran through all of the encounters he'd had with Punk over the last couple of weeks. Punk was intent on destroying Randy. Randy had admitted that Punk's grudge was more than about the title.

Unless, someone was lying, and then... it clicked. The way punk almost had a heart attack when john startled him, the way he stiffened back at the house show when he heard Randy's voice. The way he had attacked him during their tag team match, and his reactions just now. It made sense now, and John desperately wished, in that moment, that it didn't.

Kofi had all but confirmed it. But John still shook his head, his stomach turning at the very thought. Randy had been a jackass and John had known how self destructive he'd gotten but even he wouldn't do something like that...or would he? He did say he was obsessed, after all. He had to know.

Going back inside that locker room and confronting Punk would most likely get him nothing but a kick to the head, however. He couldn't confront Punk about it. Either way, if he was wrong or right, Punk would probably only attack him for just suggesting it.

He left then to go and confront the only other person who could tell him the truth, still praying that he was wrong.


	5. Truth

John raised his fist but hesitated at the last second before he knocked on the door. He'd been debating with himself for days, since he'd talked to Punk. A part of him insisted that he was jumping to conclusions, that Randy would never be capable of what he was thinking.

Another part of him remembered that Randy was the same guy who had kicked his father in the head, who had gone after Stephanie McMahon, who had been such a horrible person just a year ago...If he could force himself on Stephanie, what would stop him from doing it to someone else? Granted, what he was thinking was a hundred times more horrible than even what he'd done to Stephanie...but all the same, if he could do those things, maybe he had been capable of worse.

The very idea made his skin crawl. John had always been given to the idea that everyone deserved a second chance, that everyone could be good. No matter how many news reports he saw on the subject, he still found it hard to believe that anyone could do something so despicable.

He needed to know, either way. Now that the thought, as abhorrent as it was, had entered his brain, he couldn't make it leave. He needed to know. With a sigh, he finally lifted his fist and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Randy opened the door and held it open for him to enter.

"Hey," Randy said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. John wondered if he remembered his drunken words.

"Hey," John replied nervously.

"Something wrong?" Randy asked, studying John a moment and probably noting the way that he was fidgeting restlessly where he stood.

"I don't know. That's what I need you to tell me."

Randy tilted his head and crossed his arms, watched John pace the room a moment. "What are you talking about?"

"I went to tell Punk he was an asshole for going after you... but something seemed off, like one of you are lying."

Randy tensed visibly. "This is about Punk again? What is the deal with you lately? Why do you care so much what goes on with me and him?"

"He says you two didn't sleep together."

"Sleep together?" Randy froze and John wondered, from his expression, if he was just now remembering telling John that while he'd been drinking.

"Yeah, that's what you told me earlier," John reminded him. He tried to keep his tone from being accusing but it was a hard thing with the thoughts running through his mind.

"I..." Randy shook himself and his gaze slid away from John's. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because I think something happened, and you're the one to blame for it."

"What's that?" Randy asked, his expression going blank. John took a few steps closer to him.

John hesitated, chewed his lip. "He says that he never wanted you but you said that you guys slept together and I...you gotta help me out here, Randy, cause I'm forming conclusions here that I don't like..."

"What sort of conclusions?" Randy still wasn't looking at him.

John swallowed, feeling a little sick again. "Conclusions like maybe you did something worse than anything I've seen you do on camera. Like maybe Punk has a good reason for hating you. Did...Did you..." John closed his eyes, rubbed his hand over them. He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "I need to know, Randy. Did you...force him into something he didn't want?"

Randy flinched violently when the last word left John's mouth. He took a couple of steps back and still refused to meet John's gaze.

"Did you?" John whispered, "Randy, what happened?"

"I didn't...It's not..." But Randy couldn't form a complete sentence in answer and the nausea John had been feeling increased.

"You're lying." John's eyes widened as the words left his mouth. He could tell.

"I wasn't...I was crazy and..." Randy trailed off yet again and when he finally met John's gaze, John saw it in his eyes. "You don't understand-"

"I don't want to understand!" John cut him off. "I never want to understand how you could do something like that!"

"I didn't-"

"YES YOU DID!" John's fists clenched, his earlier indecision and worry replaced by a sudden fury that the confirmation he'd seen in Randy's eyes. "How could you…_How the hell_ could you do that someone?"

Despite his profession, John had never been an overly violent man outside of the ring and he liked to think that everyone deserved a second chance in life. He liked to think that he could be something other than the brute some people saw all wrestlers as outside of the arenas but, in that moment, he completely lost it. His vision narrowed and before he even knew what he was doing, before he could think about it, his right fist had connected with Randy's left cheek.

John lost himself completely. He was barely aware of the fact that he was on top of Randy after the other man had fallen to the floor. When he did come back to himself, Randy was under him, bloody and bruised. John scrambled off him, watched as he turned on his side, spitting out blood, his hands going to what was most likely a broken nose and his eyes already swelling. John's knuckles were bleeding and his arm ached. He was breathing like he'd run a mile.

He stood slowly, staring down in disgust at the man that he had become friends with over the last year. Then he stared down at his own bloody hands and blinked a few times, some of the rage dying. He didn't speak, simply ran from the room.

Xxxxxxxx

John had fully intended on going back to his hotel room and spending the next hour in the shower and trying to forget both what he'd learned from Randy that night and what he'd done to Randy as a consequence but instead, he found himself standing outside yet another room. Unlike before he didn't hesitate in knocking on this one and the door jerked open almost immediately. Punk opened his mouth, probably intent on cursing him but he stopped short at the sight of John, taking in the blood on his shirt and hands.

"What the fuck?" He asked incredulously, looking John over. "You go out and kill someone, Cena?"

"I wanted to," John said. His anger was completely gone, replaced by other warring emotions that he couldn't get a handle on.

"And you're running around a hotel hallway like that? Moron." Still, Punk didn't let him in. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted...needed to see you." Maybe it was something in John's expression, or in his tone but Punk didn't slam the door in his face. Instead, he grabbed John's arm and pulled him inside.

"Well, I don't want to be arrested as an accessory."

"Thanks." John replied as he entered the room

"Don't thank me, Cena. Maybe I'm just curious whose blood it is you got all over you. Never thought you were the type." John almost cracked a smile at those words. Months ago, Punk's whole motivation for going after John was his supposed barbarism towards Barrett.

"Randy."

Punk tensed, and then sighed. He grabbed John's arm again, and pulled him towards the bathroom. "Idiot," he mumbled on the way. He shoved John down on the closed toilet lid when they got there and grabbed a towel, running it under the sink water before returning to John.

"So, you've got everything all figured out, have you?" Punk's tone was flat as he asked.

"I-I'm sorry that it happened to you."

But you're not going to fucking tell anybody, are you?" It didn't sound like a question, more like a demand and Punk pressed the wet towel against John's split knuckles with a little more force than necessary.

"No, it's not my story to tell." John's tone was sincere and concerned and Punk must of seen that.

"No, it's not." He paused and wiped the blood from John's hands a little more gently. "How badly did you hurt him?"

"Bad enough."

"You're going to get in some trouble for that." Punk's expression was unreadable in that moment but he had yet to kick John out so John would have liked to think that he might have been concerned himself.

"I'll deal with it. He got what he deserved."

Punk was silent for a minute at that. "Why the fuck would you risk this for me?" He asked finally.

"Because nobody deserves that," John stated immediately, firmly.

Punk frowned. "I can take care of myself. I can take care of Randy myself."

"I know." John agreed with him readily, was pretty sure that any other answer would get him kicked out but he had lost it. "I just couldn't help myself."

Punk froze for a moment at those words, and then pulled away like John's skin had been set on fire.

"What is it?"

"You should go." Punk choked the words out and John stood, reached for him but Punk knocked his hands away. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"What did I do?" John asked, confused.

"Go!" Punk yelled, shoving John away this time. "Get the hell away from me!"

John stood up and backed up towards the door. "I'm sorry," John said, still completely unsure on what he was apologizing for. Punk slammed the door in his face as soon as he was in the hallway.

Xxxxxxxx

"_Sorry, Punk. I just couldn't help myself_."

He felt nauseas again and pressed his back against the door as soon as he closed it against Cena. Those words were familiar. Those words had haunted his nightmares, spoken in a different voice, a different tone. He hated it. That mocking tone as he'd lain on the floor bleeding and hurting.


	6. One Step Forward

Punk bounced on the balls of his feet in the backstage hallway, rolling his wrists back and forth. he was edgy, hadn't slept in what felt like a week and he felt scattered, unable to focus. He couldn't. Not with what had been happening lately. He should be focusing, given the fact that he was heading into a Last Man Standing match against Orton but he found it nearly impossible partially because he was going into that type of match with Orton and partially because of another man.

"Doing alright?"

Punk sighed at the familiar voice and turned, unsurprised to see John. "This going to be a regular thing with you?"

"I just came by to say hi."

"Right. Well, I'm fine." He paused, reluctantly continued. "What about you? Get into any trouble?"

"No, actually. Apparently, Randy told them that he got mugged. MY guess is that he didn't want to have to explain why I did it or risk me explaining it."

"Which you won't be doing, right?"

"I said I wouldn't and I meant it." He paused. "Look, this thing with Randy-"

Punk held up his hand, cut him off. "I'm really not going to talk to you about that, Cena."

"I was just going to say that I hope you kick his ass," John said with a light smile. "He deserves it."

Punk frowned at him. "You do realize this doesn't make us friends, right?"

"Of course it doesn't…But I still hope you beat him." John's smile didn't leave before he turned around to walk away. Punk watched him go, his frown deepening. If possible, he felt even less stable after that little conversation.

Not soon after John left, Punk felt someone standing behind him. Turning around sharply, he came face to face with Randy. Punk felt the automatic urge to take a step back but suppressed it like he had been ever since he'd started the feud with Randy.

"You told John." It wasn't a question and he couldn't read Orton's tone but Punk felt the familiar spark of rage.

"No, you did."

Randy turned his head and seemed to be fighting with himself. "He already knew when I talked to him. He was just confirming it."

Punk's eyes narrowed at how twitchy Randy was. "Not looking real stable there, Orton. I didn't tell Cena anything but it must be hard with him seeing who you really are."

"And you're one of the good guys, right?" Randy asked with a sneer.

"Oh, no. I never said I was a good guy but at least I don't force myself on people."

Randy's fists clenched and unclenched and Punk finally did take a step back. Randy said nothing to him but he brought a hand up and dug his fingers into his scalp. Punk let a bitter little smile come across his face. Luckily, his music hit before Randy could decide what he wanted to do with that comment, and he made his way out to the ring. Tonight was his night, his time to let Randy feel all the rage he had built up because of him. He had to win.

He crouched in one corner when his music died and waited, his eyes trained on the ramp when "Voices' rang out through the arena. He'd been avoiding the full impact of it since he'd started his feud against Randy but now he had to stop. Every bit of pain and grief the man had caused him came back. The pain and grief that had driven him completely insane at one point.

As soon as Randy stepped into the ring, and the bell sounded, Punk attacked the man. He kicked the other man in the ribs, hard, tackling Randy when he bent forward, and landing several blows to Randy's face. The referee was yelling but Punk ignored him. It didn't matter anyway, not in this type of match.

Randy got an elbow in, slamming it against Punk's temple and rolling them until he was on top. In that moment, Punk froze, he couldn't move. He forgot where he was, remembering the last time this had happened. He only froze for a second, however. The rage came back, stronger than ever and he brought a knee up. Randy cried out above him when he connected in the place that it hurt the most.

Randy rolled on the mat in pain and Punk went outside the ring, looking under it until he found a kindle stick. He brought it back in with him and hit Randy in the ribs several times before he pulled Randy up, using the kindle stick to choke Randy out. Randy tried to get out of his grip but Punk pressed the kindle stick harder against his throat and he began to feel it when Randy started to fade. Before he could pass out, however, Randy reached back, grabbing a handful of Punk's hair. He managed to get his feet under him before he dropped down again, delivering a jawbreaker that had Punk stumbling back, losing his grip on the weapon. Randy grabbed it and, still sitting on the mat, hit Punk in the back of his knees, taking his legs out from under him.

Randy stumbled to his feet, one arm wrapped around his ribcage and glared down at Punk, who had already rolled over onto his stomach and was beginning to get up. With a scowl, Randy moved forward and punted Punk in the ribs before he could get to his feet. Punk tried to get up, but felt his legs being stomped on, and it didn't stop there. Randy stomped on his wrists, back, and head.

As soon as Randy did let up, he rolled onto his side just in time to catch Randy sliding out of the ring. He struggled to get to his feet when he saw Randy crouching to get something from under the ring. He had to force himself to move when Randy pulled out a trashcan and, doing his best to the ignore the pain from the blows Randy had delivered before, he dove through the second rope just as Randy brought the trashcan up to put it in the ring. He'd brought his forearms up to protect his head and they smashed into the trashcan, the force of it driving it back into Randy's face. Both men landed hard on the floor.

He was in so much pain, but he knew he had to get up before the ten count. Shaking his wrists, that had taken the brunt of the damage; he managed to stumble to his feet about the same time Randy did. They traded blows on the outside for a few seconds.

Punk landed a kick to the stomach that had Randy bending forward and he wrapped an arm around Randy's neck, gripped the hem of Randy's trunks and set him up for a suplex. Unfortunately, Randy blocked it and before he could do anything to stop it, Punk felt himself being lifted and a moment later, his ribs smashed against the ring barrier. He hung there, pain burning in his chest.

He couldn't fight Randy off when he wrapped an arm around Punk's neck and pulled him so that he was hanging off the barrier by his legs. Randy dropped backwards, hitting the elevated DDT, Punk's head smashing into the floor.

His vision dimmed for a moment, as well as his hearing. He barely heard the referee counting. He was shaky and had to force himself to his feet and brace himself on the barrier when the ref got up to a six count. His vision cleared long enough for him to see the surprised look on Randy's face before the bigger man ran for him again. Doing his best to ignore the pounding of his head, Punk went for a low dropkick, taking Randy out at the knees. Randy's face bounced off the barrier and it was his turn to go down.

Punk took a few seconds to get himself together. He couldn't waste too much time, though. He needed to end it. Randy was already getting back up. Punk went for a roundhouse kick but Randy ducked under it, leaping forward and going for a headlock, his forearm digging into Punk's throat. Randy dragged him down to the floor, pulling Punk against his body before wrapping his legs around Punk's waist from behind.

Punk instantly froze remembering the last time Randy's legs were wrapped around his waist, but it only lasted for a second before he felt rage enter his system. Randy had pulled him as close as possible in the hold, the skin of his stomach rubbing against Punk's back, his crotch level with Punk's ass. The disgust, the hatred...rage was so overwhelming that Punk's vision narrowed.

Grabbing the only thing near him, Punk picked up the trash can. Judging as best he could, he brought it backwards, above his head and felt it when it hit Randy on the forehead, forcing Randy to break the hold. Punk didn't stop when Randy let go. He kept hitting Randy until the trashcan was a broken and bent mess. He was lost in that rage and he picked Randy up into a sitting position, leaning him against one knee so that he could drive his elbow repeatedly into the side of Randy's neck.

Going back under the ring, Punk grabbed the first thing he came across which happened to be a fire extinguisher. He slammed it into Randy's head. Randy dropped to the floor but Punk, still lost in that rage, didn't leave it at that. He threw the extinguisher aside and got on top of Randy, bringing his head up, only to slam it back down into the floor. He repeated the action several times until he felt the ref trying to pull him off of Randy.

Punk finally stood and waited as the ref began the ten count. When ten came, Punk smiled at the fact that he had won, he had beaten was blood on the floor and several other referee's came running down to check on Randy, eyeing him warily as the passed. But he wasn't interested in interrupting them. He wasn't interested in ever touching Randy Orton again.

Half the crowd was booing him, half were still chanting Randy's name. The chanting didn't bother him. The crowd's reaction towards him had never bothered him. He walked backstage with nothing but a sense of accomplishment.

Xxxxxxxxxx

John walked opened the door to the trainer's room without knocking. He'd seen Randy get helped back there and he found one of the trainers checking Randy over. Randy was conscious, attempting to push the man away. He raised his head when he heard the door open, and met John's gaze.

"I need a minute," John told the trainer flatly.

The trainer sighed. "Maybe you can get him to cooperate."

John didn't answer, simply shut the door behind the man after he left the room.

"I'm glad you got what you deserved," John said after a few seconds of paused, and watched as Randy gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "On second thought, you deserve a lot worse, don't you?"

"Did you come here for something in particular, or just to gloat over my loss?"

"Stay the hell away from Punk."

When Randy didn't answer to that, John took a few steps closer to him. "I'm serious, Randy. You're not going to retaliate for this. You're going to let it go or I'm going to make sure the consequences are a lot worse next time."

"You're not going to tell anybody. You wouldn't."

"Sure about that?" John raised an eyebrow. "Stay away from him. I'm only going to warn you once."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Punk was sitting on the floor of his locker room. He'd already showered and changed but was reluctant to get up just yet. Winning against Randy on his own had felt good but he'd still ended up spending a while in the shower, once again trying to scrub the feel of Randy's skin off him.

He didn't hear the door open, and when he heard someone call his name, he jumped. He looked up to see John standing in front of him, looking worried.

"You okay?" John asked.

"I'm great," Punk said with a roll of his eyes. "I won, didn't I?"

"I told Randy to stay away from you

"I'm the one that started this mess," Punk pointed out with a tired sigh, standing and grabbing his bag.

"He started it when he did that to you."

"Can we not talk about this?" It was a simple request, with no anger. He was too tired to be angry anymore.

"Okay. You going to head back to the hotel?"

"Planning on it," Punk said with a shrug.

"Need a ride?"

Punk hesitated, studied him a moment but relented at the look in John's eyes. "Alright." This time, they walked out together.

xxxxxxxx

I know that Randy won the Last Man Standing match but considering what this story is about, I needed Punk to win it.


	7. Two Steps Back

John was still shifting on his feet when Punk opened his hotel room door. Punk watched him for a moment. "Thanks for the ride," he said finally.

"No problem." Another shift.

"For fuck's sake, Cena…" Punk rolled his eyes and grabbed John's arm, pulling him inside the room.

"What are you-"

"Can it." Punk closed the door behind him. "You wanted to ask to come in, anyway. Since when have you been so hesitant?" He dropped down on his bed and, after kicking off his shoes, drew his legs up until he was cross legged.

"I just wasn't expecting you to invite me in," John said with a shrug, and a grin.

"You going to sit down, Cena? Or stand there the rest of the night?"

"The rest of the night?" John's grin turned teasing. "I knew you liked me." He fluttered his eyes in a dramatic way before sitting beside Punk on the bed.

"Fuck off," Punk answered without any real heat. He threw the television remote at John before reaching for his bag beside the bed. John only chuckled and turned on the TV while Punk searched for something to read.

John watched him out of the corner of his eye as he flipped through the channels and Punk selected a comic. The both of them remained silent for several minutes and John's mind, not really paying attention to the old episode of Conan O'Brien he'd stopped on, drifted to the last couple of days and the strange set of circumstances he found himself in.

He studied Punk a moment. "What?" Punk snapped suddenly. He hadn't looked up.

"Just wondering, do you ever sleep?" John asked after a moment.

Punk did look up then, and frowned. "Well, considering the fact that no one can go without sleep indefinitely, I'd say yes."

John rolled his eyes this time. "You know what I mean."

"Insomnia, Cena. I've had it for years."

John nodded, considered this. "Nightmares?" He blurted out and, to his surprise, Punk didn't seem angry at the question. He simply shook his head.

"No, it's a hazard of being straight edge and a professional wrestler."

"What?" John frowned in confusion.

"I never take anything," Punk explained, meeting John's gaze.

"Not even Aspirin?" John asked, and Punk shook his head, going back to his comic. "Huh."

John fell silent again but tilted his head. "Why do you hate me?" He asked suddenly, simply curious. He doubted Punk really gave a damn about anything John had done to Barrett.

"I hate everybody," Punk answered idly and John was mildly surprised when his lips twitched in an almost smile.

John snorted. "Suuure. Should've expected that answer." He paused, and his grin came back. "So, what are you reading?"

And if Punk had to suppress a real smile, he didn't say anything, nor did John say anything about the surprise he felt when, instead of snapping at him, Punk began an explanation of the latest comic book series he'd gotten into.

xxxxxxx

Cross-legged on the bed, a forgotten comic lying just beyond his reach, Punk was watching John sleep. He wasn't sure how it had happened, how John Cena had ended up asleep on his bed, in his hotel room.

John had only offered him a ride and Punk had only invited him in the hotel room to be-and it was a strain for him-polite. He had no clue how they'd ended up flipping through TV channels together or how he'd ended up explaining just why he liked comic books so much.

But John was funny, his sense of humor catching Punk off guard until the man had enough time to fall asleep and Punk, for some reason he couldn't name, had found himself disinclined to wake the other man.

_Doesn't change anything. _He held onto that thought because it would be true. Tomorrow, they'd ship out for RAW and he'd still be the leader of Nexus and John would still be the goody-goody face of the company. It wouldn't matter that John knew his deepest, darkest secret. It wouldn't matter that they had almost been friendly the night before.

Punk scowled down at his hands resting in his lap. It was stupid. He was being stupid. John had yet to tell anyone what he'd figured out and Punk had felt the swell of gratefulness when John had informed him that he'd warned Randy off after their Last Man Standing Match.

Sure, there was a bit of indignation, but that was an automatic reaction. The truth of the matter was that he was glad it was over, if Orton followed John's instructions. He was sure he wouldn't be able to handle months more of a feud he had started.

_Did it change anything really? _He'd won the Last Man Standing Match. He'd left Orton a bleeding mess. Still, Punk felt the hollowness creep in. It wasn't enough. Orton had violated him in the worst way possible and it wasn't enough that he'd left the man bleeding in front of all his fans.

This truth had settled in sometime after John had fallen asleep and it had left him feeling almost numb. Because what if it didn't change anything? What if it didn't curb the urge he sometimes felt to rub his skin raw in the shower? What if it didn't make the horrid nightmares go away? What if it didn't take away the shame and humiliation?

Punk rocked slightly as he thought about it. What if nothing could change it? It had been two years and it was still there in the forefront of his mind. What if he would always be like this? What if he would never be able to close his eyes and not see the sick, obsessed look in Orton's eyes? Not feel the agony as Orton tore him in two?

Punk pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes but snapped them away as the picture, vivid and horrible, of Orton leaning over him, a smirk on his face, floated across his vision. He pulled his legs up close, and wrapped his arms around them, staring straight ahead at the wall across from him, although not seeing it.

It was kind of funny, he thought. His parents had been horrible people but they hadn't broken him. He'd simply gone to find a family that would love him and look after him. He'd always been a big believer in finding people that actually cared and leaving behind the one's that didn't, in not dwelling on the one's that didn't. So why couldn't he do that now?

He couldn't stop it as that night replayed back, over and over again. He rocked on the bed and didn't notice it when John woke up.

Xxxxxxxxx

_"You alright, man?" _

_Punk grimaced at the question and nodded to Kofi, even though he was holding his arm close to his chest and his head was beginning to pound. His match had gone longer than expected and he'd ended up getting jumped near the end of it. _

_"Are you sure?" Kofi asked, "Your arm looks banged up."_

_"More than my arm," Punk answered with a slight smile. He was limping slightly too. "I've had worse. Don't worry about it." _

_Kofi just shook his head. "You planning on going with us out tonight?"_

_"I don't know." Punk rolled his shoulder, attempting to stretch out his sore muscles as they stopped at the door to his locker room. "I'm going to shower. I'll let you know." _

_"Alright, just text me."_

_Punk went into his locker room and closed the door, heading over to his bag and digging through it one handed until he found a tee-shirt and jeans. He was unwinding his wrist tape when the door opened and closed behind him and he turned to face the door, automatically tensing when he saw who it was. Randy Orton, standing before him with an almost blank look on his face. But his eyes…there was something there that Punk had seen during their last few encounters…_

_"What do you want?" Punk asked._

_Randy didn't answer at first, just locked the door. Punk shifted his weight, dropped his hands to his side, expecting a fight. Orton had been acting crazier than usual around him lately and he really didn't understand why. Orton had gotten what he wanted. Punk wasn't World Heavyweight Champion any longer. He'd accepted that and was mostly content with the tag team gold he and Kofi had won together. Kofi was, after all, a good guy. _

_Orton moved closer. "I've been watching you." He laughed, but the sound held no humor. It was dark and slightly hysterical. He dug his fingers into his scalp the way Punk had seen him do in some of his crazier moments. _

_Still, he held his ground, and his eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Orton?" He asked again, more forcefully. _

_He saw it a split second before it happened, saw the way Randy tensed, prepared to move. Unfortunately, he'd gotten jumped not ten minutes earlier so he wasn't moving as fast as he usually did. Randy caught him with a shoulder tackle. His hip and arm had already been hurt and it knocked him backwards, off his feet. He let out a cry when his head connected to the bench behind him. His vision blurred and his head went fuzzy on impact. _

_For several seconds, he was unaware of his surroundings until he felt a weight pressing down on him, keeping him on the floor. He tried to push it away but after the hit to the head and getting jumped in his match, Randy held him down embarrassingly easy. _

_"What are you doing?" The words came out mumbled, weak, though and he got a good idea of the answer when he felt Randy's fingers trail to the hem of his trunks, trying to pull them down. _

_"Stop…" Even through the pounding in his head, panic started to build and he struggled against Orton's hold. But his movements were too sluggish after the head wound, too slow and he felt something press in between his legs that made him cry out in anger and a new emotion that he hardly ever remembered feeling. Shame. _

_With Randy sitting on his legs and his wrists pinned to the floor, there was little he could do. He still tried, however, and when Randy brought his head close, Punk's forehead connected with his nose with enough force to bloody it. This did not, however, make Randy loosen his hold. Instead, it only seemed to make him angrier and he tightened his grip on Punk's wrists to the point of bruising. _

_He went to scream as a last resort, thinking that there had to be someone who would hear but was cut off when Orton's lips crashed into his own. Caught off guard, Punk gasped. Orton took advantage, thrusting his tongue inside Punk's mouth. Punk took the opportunity to bite down as hard as he could. _

_Orton drew back with a scowl, seemingly ignoring the blood Punk had drawn. There was a crazed look in his eyes as he released Punk's wrists only to grab the sides of his head and smash it against the floor…once, and then twice with enough force to cause a concussion. _

_Punk's vision did not just blur at this but completely blacked out. When it came back, he was not truly aware enough to realize that Orton had gotten what he wanted and that he was now lying naked under the other man. He couldn't even fight it this time. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool, the ceiling swam and his stomach was rolling...he was dangerously close to bringing up everything he'd eaten that day. _

_"Stop." He struggled weakly in Orton's grasp, couldn't believe it was happening even as he didn't have the energy to stop it, not after the shots to the head. Punk hadn't remembered ever crying since before he'd left his parents house for good as a teenager but his eyes burned and then two hot trails ran down his temples when Orton gripped his thighs and spread his legs further. _

_"Stop," he repeated over and over, the word like a mantra, pleading and desperate. _

_Orton wasn't listening and, without preparation, he thrust his hips forward abruptly. Punk's mouth opened in a silent scream at the pure, white hot agony that tore through his body. He couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle the pain, the humiliation of what was happening to him. _

_As Orton pulled out, only to thrust forward yet again, the agony growing, Punk's mind shut down. He disconnected from his body, from what was happening and, finally, the agony became distant…_

Xxxxxxxxx

John was in a state of bewilderment when he woke up. First, at the fact that he'd woken up in a place that was definitely not his hotel room. That had been easily answered, however, when he remembered that he'd given Punk a ride home the night before and had ended up staying with the man. And second, at the state he found Punk in when he'd looked to the other side of the bed.

Punk was sitting up, staring blankly at the wall opposite him. John had frowned, watching the other man, who didn't even seem to notice he was there. But John had felt true alarm when, quite suddenly, Punk had begun scratching at his own skin, shaking where he sat, his eyes still holding that faraway look.

"Punk!" John grabbed his wrists, trying to keep the man from hurting himself. Punk flinched violently, trying to jerk away from him. "Hey! Wake up, man!" To his relief, Punk's eyes did focus on him then but the misery in those eyes made John's breath catch.

"I can still feel him!" Punk said, loudly. "Inside. I can still feel him. And it doesn't help, doesn't help, doesn't help…" he kept repeating those words and John was at a loss for what to do for a moment.

This was CM Punk. The smirking, sarcastic, sometimes downright sadistic, asshole who had started up his own cult, who had taken over Nexus and led them down a vicious road that rivaled anything Barrett had done. This was the same guy who had gone after John just a few months earlier with a vengeance, starting with a chair shot…This was CM Punk, rocking before John, and staring up at him with broken, pleading eyes.

John pulled him close, wrapping the smaller man in a embrace and, to his surprise, Punk actually clung to him, sobbing now. And it didn't matter that they'd been enemies just weeks before. It didn't matter that they'd hated each other. No past indiscretion or alliances or anything else mattered in that moment.


	8. Friends

"You left." John stood in the doorway of the Nexus locker room, eyes trained on the lone figure on the bench. He was glad that none of the other Nexus members were there, but worried about other things.

Punk only glanced up at him briefly. "Yeah."

John had woken up in the late morning alone. He'd thought Punk had fallen asleep as well, after the breakdown John had witnessed and John, after watching the other man for a while had ended up falling back asleep as well.

John stepped into the room. Punk did not lift his gaze from his boots but at least he didn't tell John to leave either.

"Look, I know you probably don't want to talk about it-"

"But you're going to anyway, right?" Punk's tone was flat, emotionless and that worried John more than anything.

"Maybe…maybe you need to," John suggested.

"It won't make a difference." Punk didn't stop what he was doing as he spoke. "You know, after…after, I couldn't handle it. It was kind of a relief to be moved to Smackdown but being away from…him didn't help either. I couldn't handle it so I went crazy instead." He shrugged, like he was talking about something ineffectual.

He began putting on his wrist tape as he continued. "Then, after Luke and Serena were fired and I had to pull myself out of that, I realized that that hadn't helped either and there I was, right back where I started. So, I decided that the only thing I could do, the only thing that was left was revenge."

He paused for a moment. "You want to know what I figured out last night? It doesn't help either. I've got nothing left, Cena." He fell silent then.

John rubbed a hand over his face. The breakdown made much more sense now and once again, John was unsure of what to do, what to say. He'd never felt more helpless, more inadequate, than he had when Punk had been sobbing against him, his voice broken as he pleaded with John.

It made sense, if Punk had never really tried to deal with it, at least not in a healthy way. He'd never even told anyone before. And he'd been working in the same company as the man who had broken him in the first place.

"Maybe you should see someone," he suggested.

Punk scoffed. "Are you suggesting I go to a therapist?"

"Maybe." He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer to Punk. "Look, I can't even pretend to know what you're going through but it sounds to me like you've been avoiding it instead of trying to deal with it and move past it."

"I can't,"

John would have argued in favor of it some more if the locker room door hadn't banged open just then. Otunga and Mason walked in but both men stopped short at the sight of John sitting there.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Otunga asked, glaring furiously.

"Leaving," John answered shortly, holding up his hands. He glanced briefly back towards Punk but Punk had started getting ready for his match again. John tried pushing past Otunga and Mason but Mason blocked his path and Otunga had turned behind him so that he was in between the two men.

"Maybe we shouldn't let you leave. Breaking into our locker room, really, Cena?"

John rolled his eyes and was about retort but Punk did it for him. "Let him go, David."

Otunga's eyes widened a bit. "I don't think-"

"I don't care what you think," Punk snapped. "Let him go."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Otunga had turned his attention from John to Punk. "You're not seriously sticking up for Cena, are you?"

Punk stood slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Are you challenging me, David? Because that is something I'd reconsider if I were you." He turned his attention to Mason. "Well?"

Mason moved out of John's way obediently. John shot one last look towards Punk, unable to explain why he didn't like leaving him alone with the other two men, before he left.

Xxxxxxxx

As soon as John was gone, Punk went to sit back down, ignoring the glare on David's face until the man stalked over to him and stopped just in front of where Punk was sitting. He raised an eyebrow.

"Problem?"

"You're damn right there's a problem," David said, seething. "What was Cena doing here? Why would you let him in here? Don't tell me you two are friends now."

Punk scowled at him. He wasn't in the mood for this. He stood again, stepping up close to the man. "Let's get something straight, David. You and I? We're not friends and we're certainly not family. What I do in my own time is none of your business."

David's glare strengthened before he turned and walked out of the room. Punk watched him go with narrowed eyes. That, he thought, was going to be a problem. Mason did not leave. He stared at Punk for a few seconds.

"We're not friends?" He asked after a moment and Punk's eyebrows shot up. The big man actually sounded…disappointed.

"You usually let your friends talk to you the way I have in the past?" He asked incredulously then he sighed when Mason didn't say anything and stood. "Trust me on this, making friends in this place is a bad idea. They usually end up stabbing you in the back."

Xxxxxxxxx

The Nexus locker room was empty when Punk came back from his match, which had, thankfully, not been against Orton. In fact, to his relief, he hadn't spotted Orton at all. He was just pulling out some clothes to catch a shower when John's voice sounded behind him.

"Where's your entourage?"

"Not here," Punk answered shortly, only glancing briefly over at John, who looked anxious. "What's wrong?"

"You haven't seen Randy around here, have you?"

"You're looking for Orton?" He felt a spark of anger but John instantly shook his head.

"No, I'm just trying to confirm some rumors."

"Rumors?" Punk raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard anything. Then again, he didn't really have any friends backstage and he hadn't seen any of the other Nexus members since he'd spoken to Mason and Otunga.

"There's a rumor going around that Randy's been suspended," John said.

"For what?" His heartbeat picked up. Suspended? That would mean that Orton would be gone for sixty days. It was his second suspension.

"Failing a test," John admitted, his tone reluctant.

Punk stared at him, unsure of how to feel about this. Orton had been on something when he'd attacked Punk. Punk was convinced Orton had already been a psycho but drugs certainly hadn't helped that. Then, there was the fact that this would mean Orton would be gone for a while and maybe for good if he kept it up.

"You think it's true?"

"I don't know." John paused, considering it. "Before I found out…what he did to you, I would have said no…or at least hoped he wouldn't be that stupid again but now…Maybe me finding out pushed him over the edge again."

Punk nodded and then a new, horrible thought hit him. He stilled and his stomach rolled with nausea at the thought.

"Punk?" John called to him, concern shining in his eyes.

"What if he does it again?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

"He won't get to you," John said, reaching up to grip Punk's shoulder.

"Not me! Someone else! What if he does it to someone else?" The horror grew as the thought did. He'd never met Orton's wife or daughter but…._Oh, god. _The man had a daughter. The nausea increased.

"Punk, man. Calm down!" John's grip on his shoulder's tightened but it wasn't helping. He was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He shoved John away from him but couldn't make it to the bathroom before he brought up everything he'd eaten that day.

His knees gave out on him but John was there, catching him and easing him down even as his stomach continued to rebel. He couldn't breathe. John pulled him back against his chest when he finally stopped heaving but his chest still felt constricted and he was gasping for breath. John's lips were next to his ear.

"I've got you, man, just calm down. Breathe, come on."

He focused on the words, and the soft murmur of John's voice. It helped and his breathing slowly calmed. He relaxed finally against John, more exhausted than he had been when he'd stayed up several nights in a row due to the insomnia.

"Okay now?" John's tone was still worried and he didn't release the hold he had on Punk.

Punk nodded, and relaxed further into the embrace. "Yeah, thanks."

"Anytime."


	9. Say it For Me

_Panic or anxiety attacks are not uncommon among individuals dealing with a traumatic experience. In most cases, this can be known as post-traumatic stress disorder. There are many symptoms of the disorder. Mood swings, panic attacks, jumpy and erratic behavior are among them…_

John looked away from the text he was reading, towards Punk, who was sleeping fitfully. It certainly fit. That description. Maybe Punk did have PTSD. The mood swings were apparent. As Punk, in his presence, had gone from devastated to angry to apathetic in a very short period of time. Nightmares…John had already had to soothe Punk through one nightmare that night. And, of course, there was the panic attack John had witnessed when they had still been back at the arena.

It made sense. It also made sense that Punk was only dealing with it now. John had basically forced it to the forefront when he'd found out and confronted Punk about it. Still, John couldn't be sorry. Punk had to deal with it at some point, and John was sure that the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

Still, he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do about it. It wasn't as if he could make it go away, and he wasn't sure how he could make it better. How could he? He'd never been through anything like it.

As if to prove the point, he was broken out of his thoughts when Punk whimpered beside him. John stared down at him a moment, sure that he'd never heard such a sound form Punk before that. But it happened again, and then Punk started moving in his sleep, building up until he was thrashing.

"Hey!" John turned to him, gripping his shoulders tightly, trying to keep the other man still. "Punk! Wake up, man!"

Punk's eyes snapped open but, for a moment, they were glazed, unfocussed. When they did focus, there was still a good deal of panic shining in them. "I have to stop it!" He yelled, trying to push John off of him.

"What?" John pulled back a bit.

"I have to stop it!" Punk repeated. "He's gonna do it again! I have to…" He trailed off, but his breathing had started to pick up until he was almost hyperventilating.

"He's not!" John protested vehemently, recognizing what the panic attack was coming from. Punk's exclamation, after finding out that Randy had gotten popped for drugs again, running through his mind. "He won't do something like that!"

"You don't know that. You don't know…" Punk's breathing became even more erratic as he said it.

John opened his mouth to protest again, then closed it. Did he know that? Before he'd found out what Randy had done to Punk, he never would have thought Randy capable of such a thing. Was it so unrealistic to think he could do it again? Was it so unrealistic to think he could hurt his family when he'd done the most despicable thing possible to one of his co-workers?

Punk must have seen his doubtful expression because he leaned forward, his arms wrapped securely around his stomach, his face positively _green. _"Oh, shit. He'll do it again. He will. I have to stop it!"

"How?!" John asked, harshly. "How are you gonna stop anything he does?"

Punk stilled at the question. John could practically hear his thoughts. Even if he told anyone what Randy had done to him, the evidence of it had been washed away two years ago. It would be his word against Randy's. Besides, Punk still had trouble talking about it with John, much less anyone else. He couldn't even say the word that defined what had happened to him.

"His wife…I could…I c-could…" He stuttered, faltering before he could get the words out.

"And Sam's gonna believe you?" John asked incredulously. "She'll already hate you because you've been trying to destroy her husband on television every week for months." John had met Sam before, several times. The woman always believed the best in Randy, had even when he was on drugs and a bit crazy.

"I have to…I…"

John was alarmed when his breathing picked up again, his panic growing. To his greater concern, he talked Punk through another panic attack. When he came down from it, his knees were pulled up to his chest, and one hand was woven into his hair. He was staring at John with a miserable, frustrated expression.

"What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing," John answered immediately. He paused. "Or, I think it's common, I mean, considering…"

"It wasn't common _before," _Punk pointed out with a scowl.

"But before you were just ignoring it," John countered. "You didn't even try-"

"I have to do _something_," Punk cut him off, fidgeting a bit. He stood suddenly, grabbed the table beside the bed when he wavered on his feet. "If you're not going to come with me, I'll go alone."

"She's not going to believe you," John repeated with a sigh.

"Probably not but…he has a kid. I'm never going to forgive myself if he does something…"

John watched him a moment. The haunted look was back in Punk's eyes and John wondered again how this was the same guy who John had fought on RAW just a couple of months ago. Things were definitely changing.

Punk also looked determined and John couldn't think of any other arguments that might keep him from doing this. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He hadn't really let it sink in himself but it was a horryfying thought. That Randy could do something like that again.

"Alright," he finally relented. "I'll go with you. She'd just slam the door in your face if you go alone."

There was nothing but relief shining in Punk's eyes then and John couldn't escape the thought that it wasn't just because Sam wouldn't talk to him without John.

Xxxxxxx

He was too pale, sitting there in the drivers seat of the car, one hand on the wheel. The tattoos on his knuckles stood out even more. John was silent in the passengers seat for several seconds, just watching him.

"You know what this is going to do to her if she believes you, don't you?" He hadn't brought this up yet but they were at the airport now, about to go in to catch a plane. "You should think about that too, before we do this. Think about how this is going to hurt her."

"As bad as it would if he does it again? To her or even someone else?" Punk's voice was controlled, barely.

"And if she believes you and still stays with him?" John grimaced a bit. Sam had forgiven Randy a lot already but even he couldn't imagine her not being horrified at what Randy had done to Punk.

"Then it'll be her choice." He paused, his grip on the wheel tightening. "I keep thinking about it. I keep wondering if I was even the only one. If it was just that one time or…" He finally met John's gaze. "You think it was only me?"

"I think so," John said. _God, I hope so. _They were both silent again and Punk made no move to get out of the car.

"I can't let it go."

There was a lot in those words, in his expression. John nodded slowly. Punk knew what he was doing, knew that he could possibly destroy a marriage by doing this but he was still going to. John couldn't argue anymore. Not when he so firmly believed that Randy should be in prison for what he'd done.

Xxxxxxx

"You're sure he's not going to be home?"

"He always goes to his parents house today, takes his daughter with him." John turned in his seat. "Look, I'm going to go talk to her first. Stay here for a few, will ya?"

John didn't wait for an answer before he got out of the car and made his way up to the house they'd parked in front of, making sure that Randy's car wasn't in the drive before knocking on the door.

"John, hi." Sam smiled at him when she opened the door.

"Hey, Sam." He smiled sadly back at her.

"Randy's not here right now if you're looking for him-"

"No, I'm not actually. I came to talk to you."

Sam studied him a moment, her smile falling. "Something's wrong."

"You know about the suspencion?"

"Of course I know about it. Your company doesn't keep those things secret anymore. And Randy would've told me even if they did."

"Sure about that?" He was still trying to convey how much he didn't want to do this to her but her gaze slid past him and he watched as her eyes went cold.

"What is he doing here?"

John turned. Punk was leaning against the car now. "Sam-"

"What are you doing riding with him? Why are you here, John?"

John sighed and ran a hand across his face. "Look, Sam, I know what it looks like but I'm asking you to hear us out. You know me. You know I wouldn't say this is serious without meaning it. Please, Sam. Just give us a few minutes. After that, I'll leave and take him with me."

Something in his expression must have convinced her because she faltered and then opened the door wider.

"I want you both gone before Randy gets back," she stated, glaring at Punk as he started closer.

Xxxxxxxx

"What's this about?" Sam asked, crossing her arms and glaring at them both. She hadn't offered them a seat and looked like she was already regretting inviting them in.

John shifted on his feet but Punk had yet to say anything. "Okay…a couple of years ago, when Randy was heavy into drugs-"

"A couple of years ago?! You brought _him _into my house over something Randy did a couple of years ago?" She was glaring at Punk again. "I know what all he did back then. You can both leave now."

"You don't know everything, actaully. And I'm sorry again but maybe you do need to. If Randy's getting back into that stuff-"

"He's not."

"But if he does. Sam…there's something you don't know."

"Like what?"

"Like…." John hesitated and reached over to put a hand on Punk's back. He had to swallow several times before he could even say the words. "Like rape."

Sam froze even as Punk flinched violently. "You're lying," she hissed.

"He's not," Punk spoke up for the first time, and turned his haunted eyes on Sam. "He…" His left hand fisted in John's shirt. "He raped me."

John was alarmed when he started to sag and he shifted to take Punk's weight when the man's knees gave out on him. "Hey," he said quietly. "You okay?"

"Think I'm gonna be sick." His face was very pale again and John took one look at the expression on Sam's face, decided against trying to get her to let them use a bathroom and instead began steering Punk towards the front door.

They barely made it out to the grass before Punk fell forward. John held him as steady as he could while Punk's stomach rebelled until there was nothing left to bring up. When he was finally able to bring Punk back against him, the man was shaking badly.

He caught sight of Sam, standing on the porch with a hesitant, unsure look on her face. Punk didn't notice her, though. He turned in John's arms instead, burying his face in John's neck.

"John?"

"Yeah? I got you."

"Wanna go home." The words were mumbled, and slurred a bit like he might have been falling asleep right there on the Orton's lawn.

"Okay. I'll take you home."

Punk relaxed further in his arms, in a silent display of trust that John would take care of it, take care of _him_ and John had to blink several times.

"John?" Sam's voice was timid. She was staring at him with unshed tears shining in her eyes, silently begging him to tell her that it was all a lie. The display she'd just witnessed had shaken her. John could see it. And why not? This was CM Punk, after all. John knew that what just happened was probably one of the only things that could have convinced her.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he repeated yet again. "Just…you need to be careful, alright?"

She put both her fists against her mouth, the tears falling and John instantly felt guilty. "If you need any help, please call me."

His attention shifted again when Punk shifted in his arms. He needed to get Punk out of there before Randy drove up. Who knew what seeing Randy right then would do to Punk.


	10. A Feeling

Sam squeezed her arms tightly in an effort to keep herself calm as she paced the living room. She'd called Randy, asked him to see if his parents could keep Alanna for the night and now she was waiting, still hoping with everything she had that John was wrong, that he'd been lied to…

The display she'd witnessed had been more than just startling. That man, that man that had been trying to destroy her husband for months…she wasn't supposed to be feeling like this. She'd dismissed what they had said, at first, until she'd watched that man shaking and puking on her lawn and unable to stand without John's assistance.

She'd thought she'd seen the worst in Randy back then. Angry and spiraling and pushing her away at every opportunity. He'd nearly died from it. He'd changed, though, after Alanna was born. He was better. He'd been better.

But if what they had told her was the truth…she shuddered when the picture of CM Punk's haunted eyes came to mind. He'd looked miserable. Miserable and guilty and broken and nothing like the man who she'd seen on television so many times.

She hunched forward a bit, pain blooming in her. She could forgive Randy the things he'd done to her, she already had. But this?

"Sam?"

She gave a start and straightened abruptly. Randy was there, in front of her. She hadn't even heard the front door open. She took a few rapid steps back.

"What's wrong?" He asked, instantly concerned.

"I…" She shook her head, choked before she could finish. "Someone was here."

"What?" He took in her stance, the tears she was desperately trying to keep from falling. "Who? Are you hurt?"

"No. But he said…he said…" And, again, she couldn't get the words out.

"Sam-" He started closer again.

"He said you hurt him," she finally blurted out, stopping Randy cold.

"Who?" His voice was low then.

"Who you've been fighting for months," she admitted. He flinched and she watched as his expression changed.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was controlled, but just barely. She heard the fear, saw the way his gaze slid away from hers and she just knew.

"No." Sam had to grab the arm of the couch to keep herself from falling. "It's true?"

"Sam, you don't understand."

"I forgave you!" She cried, tears spilling over now. "I stayed through all of that. But how could I…What kind of person would it make me if I overlooked this? If I stayed when you could do…_that _to another human being."

"Sam."

She had to back away from him again, tried, with little success, to calm herself down. "I'm going to get my daughter then I'm going to go to stay with family. Until I…until I can figure out what to do."

She saw it when his fists clenched, when anger won out over the other emotions. He didn't stop her, wasn't even really looking at her and she knew, too, that she wasn't the one he was going to make pay for this.

Xxxxxx

John woke up early. The sun was barely up when he sat up in the unfamiliar bed, in Punk's bed. The other side was already empty and John sat there for several minutes, unmoving. Punk had been pretty unresponsive after they'd left the Orton's place. He'd let John stay without comment.

It had been just as worrying as the vomiting and the panic attacks. Punk had made the long trip from St. Louis to Chicago in virtual silence. Sighing now, John rubbed the sleep from his eyes before he reached for his phone on the nightstand and froze when he saw the missed call and voicemail. He brought up the voicemail and listened, with trepidation, to Sam's halting voice.

"_John…hey, I…Look, I talked to Randy and I…" _There was a sob, a shuffling sound. "_He was so angry, John…He didn't hurt me but…but you need to look out for your friend, I think. I'm gonna go stay with some family until I…until I can figure out what to do and…and I think Randy's gonna blame him. Be careful." _

John lowered his phone slowly when the voicemail cut off, dread forming in his chest. He'd known this was a possibility, so had Punk. He wondered just what it took for Sam to call him to warn Punk about her own husband.

There had been a small hope, a small part of him that had hoped Randy would see this a sign to stop, to get his own help but it had really been a tiny part. The bigger part of him knew that Randy was probably going to be looking for payback.

Standing, John made for the stairs. The worry increased with every step he took and the need to protect welled in him so strong. It had been there since he'd first figured all this out, of course, but with the threat…

But he couldn't stay with Punk all the time. In fact, he'd have to leave today. He had his responsibilities that came with being the top guy in the WWE, responsibilities that rarely gave him a day off. He'd been lucky yesterday, lucky for that day so he could go with Punk.

He found Punk downstairs, sitting on his couch, back pressed against one arm and feet spread out in front of him. John watched him a moment, going unnoticed. He was flipping the channels on his TV but didn't seem to be settling on anything.

"You sleep at all?" John asked finally, coming around the couch so he could face Punk.

Punk shrugged, looked up at him. "You're leaving."

"Have to," John answered, sitting on the other end of the couch when Punk moved his legs. "I got a message from Sam."

"She staying?"

"No, but-" He pulled out his phone again, handed it over. "Just listen."

The look in his eyes had turned dark by the time he handed John's phone back. "If he comes after me, I'll take care of it."

"You need to be careful," John insisted. "He could come here if-"

"I'll be fine, Cena. I've taken Orton down before."

"But he could still surprise you. Maybe you should call someone when I leave. You've got friends here, right? Maybe you should-"

"I don't need a babysitter." And he was getting angry but John was frustrated. "I can take care of myself."

"Like yesterday?" John blurted out before he could stop himself and knew the words were a mistake as soon as they left his mouth. Punk stilled, tilted his head.

"You're right. I was weak-"

"That's not what I meant-"

"But I've been taking care of myself for years. I can do it now. You can leave."

John could see him fighting with himself and he got the impression that if he left at that moment, that he wouldn't be alright, that maybe he'd even go back to pretending like nothing had happened.

"I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I told you-"

"Yeah, you can take care of yourself. I just want you to know, it's different now. At first, yeah, it was just about what happened to you and it probably wouldn't have mattered who you were. But it's different now. I…care about you."

"Why?" Punk asked, his expression pained now.

John shrugged. "Don't know. Just happened. You're not bad company."

Punk's lips twitched. "Sure. I'm the ball of sunshine."

John snorted. "Okay, so you can be kind of…grumpy."

"Grumpy?" Punk was definitely amused now.

"Shut up." John rolled his eyes but squeezed the hand he was still holding. "I do mean it, though."

"I know," Punk said.

"Been thinking. Maybe you should tell someone else."

Punk stiffened and pulled his hand away. "What?"

John chewed his lip. "I don't mean just cause Randy could come after you. But if you're not gonna do the therapy thing; maybe talking about it with someone else other than me could help."

"No." Punk's expression had turned hard.

John ran a hand over his face. "You said the words," he pointed out softly. "You said them to Sam. Maybe you should to someone who's not a stranger."

"No," Punk repeated, moving to stand. John reached over again, this time grabbing his arm.

"What happens when you're alone and you have one of those panic attacks?" John pressed on.

"I'll deal," Punk said, gritting his teeth and glaring now.

"But you shouldn't have to. Not alone. You need to-"

"I don't need to do anything." He tried to get up again but John was still holding onto him. "Let me go."

John pulled back finally, holding up his hands. "Okay. I'm just…I'm just worried."

"Yeah." Punk stood finally, making his way towards the kitchen. "Don't you have to be somewhere?"

John sat for a moment, stalled. There was something in his chest, trying to rise up. Dread, maybe. A bad feeling. He had to go but he couldn't escape the feeling that something bad would happen if he did.


	11. Rumors

John spent the next two days in a state of high tension. He called Punk more times than he probably should have, until Punk had flat out stopped answering his phone and would only answer John's texts with one or two word answers and he was more than relieved when the first house show rolled around.

He'd gone to look for Punk as soon as he'd gotten to the arena and, after getting the Nexus locker room door slammed in his face by a scowling Otunga, he had been heading towards his own locker room, keeping a look out for Punk when he was stopped.

"Looking for someone?"

John turned at the voice and forced a smile. "Hey, Rey. I'm just-"

"Looking for CM Punk," Rey interupted. It wasn't a question.

"What? Why would I be looking for him?" He asked as Rey fell into step beside him.

"Come on, John. You really think everyone backstage is blind?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, but I do think it's none of 'everyone's' buisness who I talk to."

"But they have been talking," Rey pointed out. "And the talk is that some people are a bit worried that you're thinking of going over to the other side."

John snorted. "That's rediculous. Not only the way you just said that but that I would. What? People think, after everything I went through with Barrett, that I might join up with Nexus again?"

Rey shrugged. "Hey, you're the one who's left the arena every time the last several weeks with CM Punk. Maybe nobody's said anything to you yet but they have noticed."

"They can talk all they want. I'm not joining Nexus. I'm just…" He stopped in front of his locker room, turned to Rey fully. "He's not as bad as everyone thinks."

"Hm." Rey studied him a moment. "You know who I'm scheduled to face tonight and tomorrow and on RAW?" John actually groaned at this and Rey nodded. "Yeah."

"So, you'll face him. It's not like you haven't before."

"Yeah, and I'm sure he's not that bad, like you said. I'm sure the four other guys he has backing him won't come down to the ring and interfere in every match we have."

"Look, I can't explain it," John stated but he silently conceded the point. "I'm not going to explain it but I got put into a situation that let me see something else in the guy. It doesn't mean I'm joining Nexus or anything like that."

"Okay." Rey held up his hands. "But you should be careful. Some people take those types of rumors seriously and trusting anyone in this buisness is risky, especially a man who's already proven that repeatedly that he's not one of the good guys."

"Yeah…" John watched him leave and shook his head.

Xxxxxxxx

Punk had just shouldered his way into the Nexus locker room when his phone buzzed in his pocket again. He only pulled it out long enough to see John's number before stowing it again. Talking to John was something he wanted to avoid for the moment.

The last couple of days hadn't exactly been his best and he dropped down onto the nearest bench tiredly. He hadn't slept at all and had rarely left his house. He was being paranoid, he knew that but he'd tried going out for a run the morning John had left and had almost had a panic attack right in the middle of the park he always ran through because he'd felt like someone was watching him, following him.

It was rediculous and he'd been pissed at himself for being that weak but it still didn't change the fact that he'd locked himself up in his own home when he'd made it there and hadn't been able to sleep.

"Cena was here, looking for you again."

Punk gave a start and blinked up at David. "What?"

"Cena was here," David repeated, glaring down at him.

"And?" Punk pulled his bag closer, digging in it for his gear. He blinked up at David, for the firsrt time noting that Harris and McGuilicutty were flanking him. When he glanced to the side, Mason was standing with his back to the door, blocking it.

"And I knew I shouldn't have backed you."

"Which is why you stayed instead of moving to Smackdown with Barrett." He stood slowly, eyeing the four men.

"You're making plans with Cena. But I'm going to do something about it before you can screw us over."

Punk chuckled humorlessly. "You really are an idiot, David." Before David could react to that, he threw his own punch. He had seen it on their faces, what they were going to do but figured he could at least get in a few good hits of his own.

It was four against one though and they overwhelmed him easily. It didn't last long, the blows stopping less than a minute after they started but when they stopped, Punk was curled up on the floor, one arm wrapped around his newly bruised ribcage.

"All yours," he heard one of them say even as he tried to recover from the damage. When Punk was finally able to open his eyes, he stared up into the gray eyes of Randy Orton.

Xxxxxxx

It was after John had already changed into his ring gear and spoken to a few other people that he finally decided to chance going to the Nexus locker room again. He was still worried and was sure he wasn't even going to be able to concentrate on his match or anything else until he spoke with Punk.

Rey had been right. The guys were looking at him a little strangely. They probably had been for a while and he just hadn't noticed. John didn't care about rumors though. He realized, shockingly, that he would take the entire locker room turning on him if it meant he could keep Punk safe.

That realization had frozen him for several seconds.

Xxxxxx

Punk scrambled back as fast as his aching body would allow but his knees gave out on him when he tried to stand and he had to bite back a cry of pain. It was all he could do to get to the point where he was leaning against one wall. Orton let him. He didn't move until Punk stopped and he only knelt so that they were eye to eye.

"I know what you did," Orton started, with a glint in his eyes Punk had seen before. "You went to my home. You talked to my wife. You made her-"

"I didn't make her do anything," Punk interupted, couldn't help himself. He spat blood from his mouth and tried to straighten his back even as his muscles screamed for him to stay still.

"No?" Orton tilted his head. "I've been thinking about what I should do now. Cause she's gone now. She's gone." He laughed then, all hysterical and crazy. He dug his fingers into his scalp and was looking at Punk now the same way he used to.

He seemed to settle after a moment, though. "I'll be back soon, you know. I'll be back here."

_Maybe not if you keep going the way you are. _"They'll fire you if-"

Orton laughed again, cutting him off. "You really think so?" He scoffed. "Even if you told them. John may have believed you but he'll be the only one. I'll come back and be back on top and you'll still be in the mid-cards. You really think Vince, or the brass, would ever believe a word out of your mouth?"

"Doesn't matter," Punk stated. Orton was right, most likely. The brass had never liked him, had never even wanted him brought up to television in the first place and he hadn't made any friends when he'd taken over Nexus. "You'll get yourself fired. Fail one too many tests…"

Orton seemed to consider this. "Maybe you're right. Then we should make the most of this time, don't you think?"

"I think you should get the hell away from him."

Orton stiffened and Punk's gaze snapped to the doorway, where John was standing, fists clenched at his sides. He took a step into the room and Orton stood, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"I was just leaving," he said but his gaze didn't leave Punk's until he was out the door. Punk only let himself sag back against the wall when he was gone. He closed his eyes for several seconds and then jumped when John wrapped an arm around him to help him stand. John still looked furious.

"Okay, I know I haven't pushed this yet," he started, the undercurrent of rage easily heard, "but you have to tell someone else now."

"I told you, I'm not-"

"You _have _to. What if I hadn't been here? What if I hadn't come looking for you when I did?"

"I can't," Punk said, gripping the edges of the bench after John helped him sit there.

"But-"

"I _can't." _

John was silent for several seconds before he answered. "Fine." But his expression had shifted to something new.

Xxxxxxxx

John stood still for a few minutes, watching Punk as he pulled his shirt up to inspect the forming bruises on his abdomen. He only explained breifly that it hadn't been Randy to cause them but that didn't really matter. Randy had still been there when he was vulnerable.

The fact that Randy hadn't managed to do anything to Punk this time didn't take away from the fact that this incident only proved that John couldn't watch him all the time, couldn't even keep him safe when they were in the same building, apparently.

He had to do something. The only problem was, the only the thing he could think to do was something he was sure Punk would hate him for later.


	12. Rage

So, considering when this fic started(near the end of Punk's reign as the leader of Nexus) I've been conidering whether or not I should include other storylines, aside from the one with Randy Orton, in this fic. Thing is, the end of Punk's Nexus run was the beginning of the Money in the Bank storyline and there are already a ton of fics on that storyline. But, considering the content of this fic, and this chapter in particular…I thought it just…fit.

Xxxxxxx

It felt like betrayal. John stood outside the office door, stalled, unable to force himself to knock, at least not yet. His earlier realization of just what Punk meant to him now had been what brought him here but it was also what was keeping him from knocking on the door.

He more than just cared about Punk. If anything proved that, it was the thought that he'd do pretty much anything to keep the man safe. He also knew that if he went through with this, Punk would hate him.

But what else could he do? He couldn't stay with Punk twenty four hours a day and as much as he was afraid of what Punk's reaction would be, he'd never be able to forgive himself if something happened when he could have done something to stop it.

John took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

Xxxxxxx

Someone pounding on his front door woke him. Punk jerked awake, nearly fell off his couch. He had a moment of disorientation before he remembered that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of some horror movie marathon he'd started.

He rolled to his feet, paused only to turn the TV off before going to answer the door. He'd only been asleep for a few hours and somehow felt even more tired than he had beforehand. Probably had something to do with the fact that he hadn't slept much the past week. Hell, even before that.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with a groan when he opened the door and found John standing there.

"We need to talk," John said after a moment's hesitation.

Punk sighed, irritated. "Look, if you're here to try out more of the John Cena brand of therapy, I'm really not in the mood. And you woke me up."

"I'm sorry." John wasn't meeting his gaze and there was real remorse in his voice. Punk studied him a moment, noted the slumped shoulders. He seriously doubted this was because John had woken him up.

"Sorry about what?"

"Can I just…come in? Something happened and I…we just need to talk."

"Alright." He finally opened the door wider, allowing John inside but there was something close to dread taking form in his chest.

"I really am sorry," John repeated as soon as Punk had closed the door and turned to him.

"What'd you do?"

John shook his head, and paced away from him. "I just…I needed to do something. I needed to do something make sure you'd be safe."

"What did you do?" His chest felt heavy and he _knew_ just by the expression on John's face.

"I went to see Vince," John finally admitted.

"And you told him," Punk finished for him.

John nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but…but he didn't believe me."

For a minute, Punk stood still as he processed this. The betrayal didn't just sting. It was in that moment that he fully realized just how close he'd gotten to John, how much he'd trusted the man, how much he'd _cared. _

He wasn't surprised that Vince didn't believe. Why would Vince believe him over Orton? He was surprised that John had told Vince. Maybe he shouldn't have been. He'd _known _how stupid it was to trust someone in the company.

It took him a moment to realize that John was speaking again and that he'd started closer. "You need to go," Punk spoke up finally, cutting John off from whatever it was he'd been saying.

"Punk-"

"You need to go _now_." He barely managed to keep his tone level. His hands were shaking in his pockets at the effort it took to supress the mix of rage and pain.

John looked defeated, sad. "I am sorry," he repeated one last time and then he left, closing the door softly on his way out.

Punk wondered towards the living room after he'd gone, the sense of betrayal, the rage swelling until he couldn't contain them. There was a baseball bat leaning against his wall and he didn't even think before he picked it up.

The first swing shattered the screen of his television.

Xxxxxx

John's hands were trembling on the wheel of his rented car. Trembling with the rage, guilt, and bone deep _sorrow. _It seemed impossible that he should be feeling all of those at once but he was and he was only surprised that the nasua rolling in his gut hadn't had him on his knees in the grass, bringing up everything he'd eaten that day.

He squeezed the wheel tightly and, for a moment, wished he had punched Vince in the face. He'd tried to keep it vague, had tried not to blurt out the full extent of what Randy had done but Vince's continued disbelief in the accusations…

It was all for _nothing. _Vince might even blame Punk for it, for, as he'd put it "putting ideas" in John's head. Lies, he'd said. Had to be, of course. After all, it was _Randy. _And Punk had been right. The higher ups had never liked him.

And the look in Punk's eyes when John had told him. He was thoroughly convinced that look would haunt him for years.

Xxxxxxx

It wasn't the first time Colt had let himself into Punk's house. The alarm that he had felt when he'd knocked first and then tried the door to find it unlocked gave way to panic when he'd opened the door and found the state of the place.

The living room was completely trashed. Colt stood still in the center of the room for several seconds, a new terror forming in his gut and then he was tearing through the house himself, searching.

He had just made it back into the living room, after finding no trace of Punk in the house when the door opened and Punk strode in, sweating from an obvious run. He stopped short at the sight of Colt.

"What are you doing here?" He asked first, his face, at least for the moment, impassive.

"I came to..." Colt trailed off, shook his head. "What the hell happened?"

"Redecorated," was the short answer. Punk started past him and Colt reached for him, stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"What _happened?" _He pressed, the full weight of his concern in his tone.

Punk finally met his gaze and the fury that was shining there almost made him step back. "I lost," he finally answered and then he was pushing past Colt, heading towards the bathroom.

Xxxxxxx

It was easy, Punk would reflect, to lose himself in the anger again, and to ignore the real origin of it, especially when he got the call from Vince. He didn't think about Orton or Cena even as he sat across from Vince and the man berated him for telling lies.

It was much easier to think of other points. Like how McMahon, along with the rest of the higher ups had never thought he'd had what it took to make it in WWE. Like how this just confirmed it. He wondered idly if Vince might have believed Orton was capable of doing something so horrible but was ignoring it because of Orton's standing in the company.

So, it was an easy enough decision when Vince switched topics on him.

"I suppose we should talk about your contract."

It was laid out on the table. The new one they'd been trying to get him to sign for months. For a moment, he wondered why they even wanted him to re-sign. He was sure, sitting there, that the moment his life had truly gone to hell was when he'd made the decision to sign with WWE in the first place.

So, he simply laughed, bitter and angry. "Oh, no. We don't need to talk about it." And he let the hate burn. He didn't punch Vince then, no matter how much he wanted to. No, he wanted to hurt them all. John, and Vince, and the rest of the WWE brass…and he would.

Xxxxxxxxx

The misery that had surrounded him since he'd made the disastrous decision to tell Vince what had happened to Punk did not come any sharper for John than it did just a month before Money in the Bank.

He'd gotten to the arena late that day, as he'd overslept. A consequence of not sleeping well at all in what felt like forever but, in reality was only a couple of weeks.

He hadn't spoken to Punk at all. He'd tried but the other man had secluded himself from everyone and had even changed the number on his phone so that John couldn't even try to leave him a message.

"You're late," Rey's voice brought him out of his thoughts just as he had walked into the locker room and set his bag down on one of the benches.

"Yeah," John answered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?"

"With what?" John asked, still distracted.

"Triple threat match. Winner gets a shot at you for Money in the Bank."

John gave a start at that. "What?" He blinked and sighed. The last couple of weeks really had been miserable, if he wasn't even up to date on that kind of thing.

"Yeah." Rey was studying him. "Me against Del Rio and Punk," he revealed.

"Punk," John repeated, staring at the smaller man.

"He kicked up a fuss at the beginning of the show and the GM put us in the triple threat."

John had no answer for that. He'd missed the start of the show but if Punk _wanted _to fight John at Money in the Bank…maybe he should have expected it. What he didn't expect, what he never would have, came later on in the night, after the triple threat match.

The fact that Punk won didn't surprise him….but then Punk had picked up a microphone. The first part was just a lot of boasting, a lot of stuff John had heard from most of the guys backstage, and even Punk himself. It was the second part that had John's breath catch in his chest, that had him stilling completely in front of the monotors.

"_…_._July 17 is the day my contract with World Wrestling Entertainment comes to an end. That means when the clock strikes midnight, the seventeenth becomes the eighteenth, Sunday bleeds into Monday, I'm leaving. And trust me when I tell you, I am leaving with the WWE championship." _

Panic. It sparked in John as soon as Punk dropped the microphone. It sent him into action and he was running towards the ring entrance before he could even think about it. He caught Punk just as the man came through the curtain.

"Tell me that was a joke," John blurted out, breathless.

And Punk smiled, completely humorless and walked right past John without answering.

Xxxxxxx

Randy will make another appearance in this. He's actually a part of my endgame for this fic that I have planned out. Also, yes, this is a Punk with different reasons for wanting to leave and stuff but I thought it fit for this fic.


End file.
